


Final Cut

by Melibe



Series: Sharper than Any Two-Edged Sword [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Affectionate Insults, Angst and Porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Beelzebub Has Breasts, Beelzebub Has a Penis (Good Omens), Eventually I mean, Face Slapping, Frottage, Gabriel Has a Penis (Good Omens), Getting Back Together, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Insults, Nonbinary Beelzebub (Good Omens), Other, Past Relationship(s), Post-Canon, Rough Kissing, Stripping, Tadfield Air Base, They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), Wing Grooming, because they're both bad at this, but not in a way that involves any real healthy communication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:26:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23743768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melibe/pseuds/Melibe
Summary: Gabriel spread his hands, like he was delivering a presentation. “You see, I realized that last time you were much better prepared than I was. As a demon, insults and hurtful language are second nature to you, right? But now that I’ve had time to prepare, I’d like to give it another shot.”Beelzebub blinked. Had Gabriel spent the lasttwenty yearsthinking about how to hurt them? He still didn’t stand a chance, but they were flattered enough to offer him one. “Fine,” they said. “Let’s up the stakes this time.”
Relationships: Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Series: Sharper than Any Two-Edged Sword [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1681705
Comments: 20
Kudos: 67





	Final Cut

**Author's Note:**

> much gratitude to TheFallenCaryatid for the "spicy version" of the prompt, and to the IB discord for endless inspiration <3

“Thought I’d find you here.”

Beelzebub continued to gaze out over cracked tarmac, barbed wire fencing and empty aircraft shelters. “Congratu-fucking-lations. It only took you six thousand years to be right about something.”

Instead of responding with an indignant splutter, as Beelzebub expected, Gabriel simply said, “At least I beat you to it.”

Beelzebub jerked their head around to stare at him. The archangel wore a cocky grin— _Aha! Gotcha!_ —that wasn’t even slightly cute. Beelzebub had no idea why they didn’t just punch him in the face.

It was one year to the hour since they’d last spoken in person, since they’d stood side by side here at Tadfield air base like they were some kind of team. Like they were on the same side, just because they were the only ones sticking to the blessed script.

_I hope someone tells your father._

_Oh, they will. And he will not be pleazzed._

That day, utterly catastrophic in its lack of catastrophe, had been their first meeting since the night at the bar twenty years prior. The night Beelzebub had cut and run rather than watch Gabriel cry.

“This place is so empty,” observed the archangel.

“No shit,” said Beelzebub, relieved that Gabriel had stepped back into his role as the village idiot. “It was abandoned right after Adam cocked up Armageddon.”

“He’s a child. I don’t think you should say he—”

“Children are the best cock-uppers on the planet.” They paused. “The only criticism I’ll accept is that the proper form might be cockers-up.”

Gabriel’s brow furrowed, and Beelzebub could tell he was thinking too hard. They weren’t interested in waiting around until he came to a conclusion. “Anyway, the Americans were only here for one purpose. Like the nuns. With Armageddon cancelled, they had no reason to stay.”

Gabriel clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. “I wonder what they’re doing now?”

“Wasting resources, passing around diseases and clogging up toilets.”

Gabriel wore his _ew_ face. “That sounds unpleasant.”

“Yep.”

He added, in an uncharacteristically quiet voice, “Still, it must be nice to have something to do.”

Beelzebub answered even more quietly, so quietly it was just inside their head. _Yep._

The shadows grew longer. A peregrine falcon rode a thermal, high above them. To no one’s surprise, it was Gabriel who interrupted the silence. “I want a rematch.”

“Don’t we all,” said Beelzebub grimly.

“No, not Armageddon. I want a rematch of that game we played before. In the—the drinking place.”

“The bar.” The demon prince rolled their eyes. “You want to play cutting? _Again_?”

Gabriel turned to face them and spread his hands, like he was delivering a presentation. “Yes. You see, I realized that last time you were much better prepared than I was. As a demon, insults and hurtful language are second nature to you, right? But now that I’ve had time to prepare, I’d like to give it another shot.”

Beelzebub blinked. Had Gabriel spent the last _twenty years_ thinking about how to hurt them? He still didn’t stand a chance, but they were flattered enough to offer him one. “Fine,” they said. “Let’s up the stakes this time.”

“What do you mean?”

When Crowley had taken credit for inventing strip poker, Beelzebub had accepted his report, but now they were sure the lazy snake hadn’t had a thing to do with it. Humans excelled at twisting games to cater to their baser instincts. Beelzebub tried to remember how it worked. “If an insult lands—if it hurts—then you get to do something to the person who insulted you. You admit the pain, and you claim a consolation prize.”

“Like what?”

“Anything you like. Taking off clothes is popular.”

“What?” Gabriel looked more startled than Beelzebub thought he had a right to.

“What _what_? You’re the one who got all handsy with me last time.”

“I put one hand on your shoulder,” he said stiffly.

“That was one hand too many.” Was neither of them going to acknowledge what had happened afterward? The kiss had left Beelzebub shaken for days, playing it over and over in their memory. Finally they had eaten an entire imp, scabs and all, just to get Gabriel’s taste out of their mouth.

“All right, fine,” the archangel was saying. “But no discorporation, okay? No maiming, or breaking bones—”

“For fuck’s sake, Gabriel, I get it.” It wasn’t as if Beelzebub would have a chance to do anything to him, anyway. No matter what ammunition he believed he had, twenty years of thinking about pain was nothing compared to six thousand. Beelzebub knew they would be the one cutting, and Gabriel would be the one hurting.

So what would he choose to do to them? Stick a lily in their hair? They almost retched at the thought, and considered calling it off. They could have an important meeting to get back to. Any meeting at which Beelzebub showed up was, by definition, important.

But then Gabriel touched their shoulder again, that absolute wanker, and waved to a boarded-up building. “Shall we?”

* * *

The room that had once been crammed full of screens and keyboards, mainframes and power supplies, was now stripped of all computing architecture. An island of empty tables was surrounded by a sea of faded blue chairs. Gabriel flipped a switch on the wall. Nothing happened.

“Let there be light,” snapped Gabriel, annoyed at having to use a miracle. A heavenly glow suffused the room.

Beelzebub made a noise of disgust and deposited themselves in a chair, throwing their legs up on a table as if they couldn’t be bothered to remain upright for one more second. Gabriel dragged over a chair to face them. He took off his jacket, draped it on the backrest, and sat down.

“Stripping already?” taunted Beelzebub.

Gabriel hadn’t considered that aspect of the game. He’d taken off his jacket simply because he didn’t want to crease it. He swallowed, feeling nervous even though he had all his moves mapped out. “I’ll start.”

“Please do, you insufferable bore,” said Beelzebub. “Oops. That one slipped out.”

He gave them his widest smile, the one that was all teeth and no eyes. “You call me boring, but there’s nothing the least bit interesting about you. Nothing unique or original. You’re just a generic demon.”

“Even if that were true—which it manifestly is not—I’m still important. Hell exists because of me. You, on the other hand, are irrelevant. Heaven doesn’t need you at all.”

 _You don’t matter._ That’s how Beelzebub had gotten to Gabriel last time, but he wasn’t going to let it cut tonight. Beelzebub had no way of knowing how much he did or didn’t matter in Heaven. They’d been cast out six thousand years ago. “You used to say that Heaven was too rigid, with too many rules. You rebelled against that, and what have you created?” Gabriel thought of the “motivational posters” Michael had seen on her visit Below. “What have you built but a twisted imitation of Heaven, with your own rigid rules?”

Beelzebub swung their booted feet to the ground with a thud, stormy blue eyes intent on Gabriel. “At least I built something. You’ve never made anything for yourself. You’re just a glorified custodian.”

“Did I ever claim to be a creator?” asked Gabriel. “That was Lucifer, trying to do the Almighty’s job. And failing miserably.”

“You’re supposed to insult _me_ , not my boss.”

“All right.” Gabriel folded his hands. He had to deliver this one carefully. “Do you know why Lucifer recruited you? Why he made you his lieutenant? Because you were easy to bend. You were too pliable, Beelzebub, and that’s how he got you. That’s why you Fell.”

Beelzebub rose to their feet, buzzing angrily. “That izzn’t true.”

Gabriel had learned during their first match that this game wasn’t about truth. “So what?” he asked coolly. “Did it hurt?”

Beelzebub lunged forward and grabbed Gabriel’s collar. Before he’d acclimated to their sudden proximity, they’d ripped the shirt off his body, sleeves and all.

“You didn’t say anything about ruining perfectly good clothes,” he objected, on principle. Actually, the loss of his shirt felt like a triumph. Beelzebub’s gaze traveled over his bare torso, raising goosebumps with its intensity.

“No discorporation. No maiming.” The demon lord dropped the last shreds of fabric to the floor, shaking out their fingers. “And it’s my turn.”

They stalked around his chair. “You’ve got the worst judgment. You trusted Aziraphale when he was undermining you at every turn. And what do you think Michael’s been doing with her _back channels_ all this time? You have no idea what any of your staff are really up to.”

Gabriel sucked in his breath. It was a good cut, if not a deep one. When Beelzebub came back in front of him, he reached for their cravat and loosened it slowly, watching the slight rise and fall of their chest beneath. Although he was still seated, he hardly had to stretch to lift the silky black material with its heavy medallion over their head.

Gabriel's thumb brushed the tarnished metal as he set it on the table, and he bit off a yelp of pain. It felt like he’d touched a hot ember. He looked up at Beelzebub, noting the slight smile on their lips, and found himself wondering what it would feel like to close his fist around their medallion. To brand his own palm with the sigil of the Lord of the Flies.

“Your turn,” they prompted.

He dragged his mind back to the game. What had they been talking about? Oh, yes. Gabriel wasn’t the only manager with fractious subordinates. “How long did Crowley disrespect you? How long did he lie about his accomplishments and ignore your directives? Was it a few thousand years or merely a few hundred?”

“We’re demons, Gabriel. It’s expected. We don’t go around trusting each other.” This answer came so fast that Gabriel guessed it was something Beelzebub had been telling themselves for a long time. “But you angels, you’re all about trust, aren’t you? Faith. Loyalty." They spat the words. "And still the Archangel Gabriel couldn’t command the loyalty of the Guardian of the Eastern Gate.”

Gabriel winced. He’d spent too long rebounding between anger at Aziraphale and anger at himself to let that slide off. Beelzebub still stood close enough to touch, so Gabriel took hold of their sash, one hand at their hip and the other at their shoulder. He clenched his fingers into fists to stop their trembling as he remembered touching Beelzebub in exactly these places, twenty years ago. It was too easy to imagine fitting his fingers into invisible prints left on that night, when the demon prince had pressed into his hands and devoured his mouth.

Carefully, Gabriel lifted the sash over Beelzebub’s head and set it on the table with their cravat.

And then, to his surprise, Beelzebub muttered, “Might as well get rid of this too,” and shrugged out of their jacket, tossing it back onto their chair without looking.

Gabriel’s eyes traveled over their white button-down. Well, mostly white. Several rust-colored stains adorned the sleeves, with a spray of the same color across the front. It took Gabriel a few seconds to recognize it as blood--and no seconds at all to be certain it wasn’t Beelzebub’s.

But formidable as they were, Gabriel had a good idea what was hiding underneath. “You’re weak, Beelzebub,” he told them. “You were always too soft on Crowley.”

“Soft on that traitor?” they sneered. “I tried to kill him.”

“Yes, exactly. You were angry because you cared about him.” Gabriel leaned forward. “Believe me, Beelzebub, betrayal only hurts from someone you care about. And you cared about a snake who never thought about you longer than it took to write your name on his reports—”

Beelzebub’s hand cracked across Gabriel’s face. The blow would have concussed a human. The archangel turned his head, popped his jaw, and looked back at Beelzebub with raised eyebrows. “Well. Your turn.”

Their voice was low and menacing. “You want to talk about caring, I bet you care about all your angels. I bet you think they care about you, but they don’t. They avoid you. They’ll do anything to get out of a meeting with you. When was the last time, I wonder, that someone was really happy to see you?”

Gabriel rubbed his sore cheek and suppressed a grin. Beelzebub was lashing out like a hurt beast now, not with the careful incisions they’d used in the first game. “Today, Beelzebub. Someone was happy to see me today.”

“Yeah, who was it, your fucking tailor?”

“You.”

Gabriel had a follow-up speech planned. But before he could get out a word of it, Beelzebub slapped his other cheek, harder than the first. His head rang with the impact.

“I was _not_ happy to see you.” They moved closer, one of their legs between Gabriel’s so they were practically sitting in his lap. “You’re an embarrassment. I _never_ wanted to be seen with you, not even in Heaven, you pompous git.”

Gabriel knew this wasn’t true. They used to burst into his meetings and demand _Groom me, Gabriel_ , spreading all their wings in his face. _Later_ , he would say. _No, now,_ they’d pout. _My pinions are twisted and I can’t fly._

 _Ask someone else,_ Gabriel would say, pretending he meant it, but secretly waiting for the answer they always gave. _No one else does it like you. It has to be you._

Then Gabriel would smile apologetically at the other archangels as he pulled that incorrigible angel into his lap, so he could groom their wings while he did his best to keep up with the meeting. _Pest_ , he’d whisper to them. _You’re such a pest._

Later, much later, they had found him during the emergency conference Michael had called to discuss Lucifer’s latest speech. They’d demanded to be groomed, as usual, and he had pushed them away. _Ask someone else, go on, pest, I mean it._ He’d spoken sharply, because he was angry and frightened, and they’d left without another word.

As soon as the meeting had finished he’d gone looking for them. Found them with Lucifer’s hands buried in their feathers, Lucifer’s whispers filling their ears.

Gabriel had shouted at them, and nothing had gone right after that.

 _I never wanted to be seen with you._ Even though it wasn’t true, it hurt like hell.

So Gabriel began to unbutton Beelzebub’s shirt. He watched their breasts appear, small and soft. He slid the stained white fabric off their shoulders and watched them shimmy it down to the ground behind them. Half-naked, they looked strangely innocent, like a classical painting or a marble statue. Gabriel fit one hand around half their rib cage, just stroking the underside of one breast.

They made a sound that was not innocent _at all._

Curiously he shifted his hand higher, rubbed his thumb over their dark nipple. A wet, guttural moan slipped from their mouth and they sank down onto his thigh, letting him feel their growing erection.

But when Gabriel caught their eye, they scowled. “Get on with the game, dickwings.”

“Right. The game.” He was fascinated by the way each nipple stiffened when he touched it. Beelzebub’s breathing had gone rough and ragged. They were riding his leg now, grinding against him.

He should be repulsed. He should push the demon off his lap, put on his jacket, and disappear with a crack of thunder. Or, if that was too much like running away, he should throw the Prince of Hell to the ground and smite them right there.

But he didn’t want to do either of those things. He wanted to wrap his hands around their hips and help them pleasure themselves while he made his next move. So that’s what he did.

“You try to hide it, but you care too much,” he said softly, rocking them back and forth on his leg. “You cared about Crowley. You cared about Lucifer. And you cared—”

“Shut up! SHUT UP!” Beelzebub slammed their face against Gabriel’s. It took him a second to realize they were kissing him, not just trying to smother him. Their tongue shoved into his mouth like they wanted to taste every one of his teeth. They bit down on his lower lip and dug their knee into his empty crotch.

“Fuck’s sake, Gabriel, give me something to work with,” they panted, breaking the kiss but still gripping his face in both of their small hands.

Gabriel licked his lips, tasting his own blood. He usually manifested genitalia only when visiting tailors, who tended to be alarmed by its absence. He knew what sort of equipment a tailor expected from a man-shaped being. It was the same as Beelzebub was sporting, and he wondered if they might not like him to copy theirs. “Do you have a preference?”

He caught the slight softening of their expression before they pasted a sneer over it. “You’re the biggest dick in Heaven, you might azz well grow one.”

This usually took some concentration, but as the words came out of Beelzebub’s mouth, Gabriel’s body responded of its own accord. The instant rush of blood to his new cock was almost overwhelming. “ _Oh_ ,” he gasped.

As close as they’d been in Heaven—and Gabriel had no doubt that they’d been as close as two angels could be, not least because of Beelzebub’s determination to insist otherwise—this was new. This was entirely of Earth. This sweaty skin that felt at once too hot and too cold, these turgid bits that swelled and leaked, set off by the least touch of fingers or tongue—

Oh shit, now Gabriel was thinking about Beelzebub’s tongue. He remembered how it felt in his mouth, twenty years ago, twenty seconds ago, and his arousal became almost painful. Beelzebub rutted on him, making Gabriel whine and clutch at their hips, dragging them closer.

“You are an absolute fucking moron and I despise you.” Beelzebub’s hands slid down from his still-stinging cheeks to grip his shoulders. “Your turn.”

So they were still playing. Fine. Gabriel could keep doing this as long as Beelzebub needed him to. “Before you interrupted, I was going to say that you cared about _me_.” He lifted one hand to their breast, squeezing gently. “That was your first weakness, wasn’t it?”

“Biggest bloody mistake ever,” they snarled, kissing him again. But it was less of an invasion this time. They licked almost gently over the cut they’d left on his lip. Gabriel tried slipping his tongue into their mouth and was pleased with the result—a moaning, bucking demon in his lap. He let out a cry of his own as he felt the urgent heat building between them.

“You’re so—fucking—stupid!” Beelzebub buried their head between his neck and shoulder, sucking fiercely at the skin there, shuddering right on the edge. Gabriel lifted his thigh to give them a little more pressure and pinched their nipple between his fingers, and that was all it took. Their teeth sank into the bruise they’d just created, muffling a shriek as their cock pulsed against his leg, hot and wet.

“What's that say—about you?” Gabriel was close too, lost in the glory of watching Beelzebub come undone. He rocked his hips forward, unthinking, chasing sensation, and Beelzebub obligingly ground their leg into his cock. He managed to choke out, “You’re—in love—with an idiot,” and then, “Oh fuck, fuck, FUCK!” He shut his eyes as pleasure burned through every nerve.

When Gabriel opened his eyes, still struggling to catch his breath, Beelzebub was staring at him with an expression that didn’t match their words. “You’re disgusting, getting off with a demon in your lap. Spunk in your pants, shirt in shreds, my mark on your neck. You’d be the laughingstock of Heaven if they could see you now.”

Gabriel barely heard their words, entranced by the look on their face. Beelzebub’s eyes were the warmest blue he’d ever seen. “Go on,” they insisted. “Your turn.”

“You—you’re very thoughtful. To make sure I enjoyed myself as much as you did.”

“Oh, pleazze.” Beelzebub blew out an irritated breath. “You’re pulling punches, Gabriel.”

He laughed, feeling almost hysterical. “You only just noticed?”

“Fuck you! I win!” They slapped him again.

At least, Gabriel was pretty sure that Beelzebub _thought_ they’d slapped him. What had actually happened was that their hand had landed on his cheek and stayed there.

“Yes, little pest.” Gabriel hugged them close. “You win.”

**Author's Note:**

> and now, back to my wips ;) 
> 
> kudos and comments are so deeply appreciated, they fend off the specter of gloom VERY EFFECTIVELY


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